


Tonight

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Betrayal, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Clubbing, Comfort, Crying, F/F, Face Slapping, Fear, Flashbacks, Friendship, Groping, Gun Violence, Guns, Hugs, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Monster Hunters, Non-Consensual Groping, Other, Outing, POV Rowena MacLeod, Pain, Protective Rowena MacLeod, Punching, Scared Rowena MacLeod, Shooting, Slapping, Supportive Dean Winchester, Supportive Sam Winchester, Tears, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trauma, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: It was supposed to be a happy, carefree outing. After tonight, however, nothing will ever be the same for you and Rowena.





	1. Pointing Fingers

_NOW…_

There were bodies all around. Limp. Lifeless. Cold. Shells of the people they used to be; people she didn't know, but, for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, she felt for. As if it were her fault they were dead.

It wasn't.

The majority of them, at least.

She threw a quick glance at the guilty ones, at the ones she _was_ at fault for. Her face contorted into a look of disgust. Her stomach, empty of food, of drinks, of everything for she hasn't had a sip or bite of anything in hours, churned with unease, with discomfort.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be with them, around them, even if they were no longer on this earth.

In Hell, she hoped they were. That was where they belonged. Where they deserved to go for what they did.

For what they tried to do.

She lowered her gaze to her lap. She was sitting on the floor, amidst the dirt and blood and bullets, and cared for none, for nothing was important anymore, nothing was sacred and pure. Your head rested on her thighs, eyes closed in a dream. A dream that, it seemed, lasted for hours.

You would wake. She knew you would. That wasn't what she feared.

What scared her to the bone, to the very core of her soul, was that you would remember. You would remember, and you would suffer, and you would blame yourself. Even though it was her — and, most important of all, _their —_ fault, you would be adamant that it was yours.

It was the way you were. Loving. Caring. Protective to death.

Literally.

She swallowed a sob at the memory, willing her face to remain cold, emotionless. A single tear slid down her cheek. She didn't bother wiping it away, and it fell to your forehand. A wet, bitter smear on your skin.

She tightened her hold on you. _Never,_ she swore to herself. Never again would she let it happen. She'd hurt her loved ones enough. You were supposed to be different. She promised you would be different, that she would protect you rather than ruin you.

Great bloody job she'd done!

The door creaked open, shaking her from her thoughts. She stiffened, on alert, and prepared a spell. The deadliest one she could think of. Done was her resolution to defend herself without killing. After tonight, one wrong look her or your way warranted death. She couldn't take any more chances.

"Rowena?"

The voice calling her name was familiar, as were the footsteps that accompanied it. She relaxed, but kept her defenses up. Just in case. She couldn't take any chances.

Sam crept in, gun in hand, cautious, a hunter in action. Dean was in tow, equal in stance, in preparation, in caution. Ready to attack, to shoot and ask questions later.

Who would have thought he had the right idea? Rowena certainly not. Not until tonight, until all the work she'd put in bettering herself, in making herself an ally rather than a villain, was thrown to the wind as the reality of the world around her dawned on her, harsh and unforgiving. Reminding her why her heart had hardened all those years ago, why she'd forced herself to abandon love in place of hate.

Love hurt. The world, cold and cruel as it was, made it hurt.

She wouldn't let it. Never again.

"Rowena?" Sam repeated softly, kindly. The tone of a friend, worried and curious.

"Sam," she willed herself to say. The word was small, quiet, scratching at her throat, painful from disuse, on its way out.

The hunter looked around at the sea of bodies strewn about the place. Then his eyes landed on her lap, on your unconscious form lying on it, and his cautious expression morphed into that of concern, of sheer, bare worry. "What happened?"

"Y/N got hurt," Rowena said. Louder, almost panicked, she added, "You've got to help her!"

You would be okay. The damage — the physical kind — wasn't life-threatening, wasn't permanent. But you were still hurting. You were in pain, and you weren't supposed to be, and she needed Sam — or Dean or Castiel or anyone, she didn't care — to fix it. To make it right. To get you better as soon as possible.

Rowena looked at Sam, locked her pleading eyes with his. "Please, help her! Please!"

She would throw herself at his feet if she had to. Beg on her knees. Offer herself to him. Nothing she hadn't done before.

Then, it was for her. For her survival.

Now, it was for you.

There wasn't a thing she wouldn't do for you, her dignity be dammed!

"Of course," Sam said in that voice that made her trust him a year ago, that made her confide in him. The voice that promised kindness and delivered. "It's gonna be okay. You're both gonna be okay."

 _I don't care about me,_ Rowena wanted to say. He could leave her there to rot, for all she cared. What mattered was taking care of you, getting you away from this place of horror.

She was about to say as much when Dean asked, echoing his brother's earlier words, "What the hell happened here?"

Exactly that.

Hell happened.

A memory of screams and blood and gunshots flashed through Rowena's mind. She shook it off, threw it back to the corner of her mind. Now was not the time for reliving trauma. She could do it after you were taken care of.

"We can talk about that later," Sam said in a placating manner, as if he'd read her thoughts. Ever the mediator. "Why don't we get you guys home?"

Home.

Rowena's heart jumped at the idea.

She missed home. Missed the warmth, the protection, the safety.

If the two of you had stayed there, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. You wouldn't have subjected yourself to lifelong trauma.

For her.

Because of her.

If she'd just said no…

"Please," she whimpered.

A pathetic thing she was. Desperate. A wounded dog begging for help.

There was a time when she would have shuddered at the mere thought of the Winchesters seeing her this way.

Back then she hadn't loved you. She'd had too much pride and nothing to lose.

A simpler time, it was. Less hurtful.

Still, she would throw her pride and dignity to the wind before going back to that. She was a horrible person then. Cold. Heartless. A wicked bitch who killed and stole and ruined without a care in the world, without a shred of remorse.

"Don't worry," Sam assured her. He knelt down and looked you over, brought a hand to your neck to check for a pulse. His eyes scanned the injuries marring your skin, the blood soaking your clothes. "She's gonna be okay."

 _I know,_ Rowena wanted to say. _I want her to be okay_ now!

Because you deserved it.

You'd _earned_ it.

Slowly, with utmost care, Sam scooped you up in his arms. Rowena watched as he lifted you, as he took you from her. Her hands fell limp to her side. She felt empty, as if she were lacking something. As if she were missing a part of her she couldn't live without.

She wasn't touching you anymore. Wasn't holding you. You were away, up in the arms of the hunter she'd come to call a friend. It felt unnatural. Wrong.

_No!_

She shook the thought off, chased it away.

It was right. You needed help, and she couldn't carry you on her own.

She couldn't _help you_ on her own.

The realization sent a pang of pain through her, sharp like a razor and hot as lightning. She couldn't help you. After everything you'd done for her — everything you'd sacrificed for her — she couldn't do anything for you.

You deserved better. So much better than a weak, pathetic girlfriend.

She watched Sam hold you, new, fresh tears brimming up in her eyes. One spilled down her cheek, cool against her skin.

"I'm not gonna hurt her," Sam said, noticing her distress.

 _But I did,_ she thought. _I hurt her. She wouldn't be here, if not for me._

"We'll take care of her," Dean added. He offered a hand. "Come on."

Rowena stared at it. Stared at the thick, calloused fingers. At the skin that was equal parts soft and rough. An offering of friendship, of kindness.

A moment, two, three passed before she reached for it. His grip was strong, steady, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Trusted him not to let her fall. She was shaky on her feet, knees weak, wobbly. One wrong step and she would stumble.

_Fuck it!_

She slid her shoes off and kicked them to the side. She would have thrown them away anyway, along with the clothes she was wearing. Dirty and bloody, they were a reminder of tonight.

She didn't want that.

She didn't want to remember.

The floor was cold underneath her bare feet. Dirt and grime clung to her skin as she walked. Blood, caked, slick, stuck to her, painted her footsteps a rust red.

She didn't care.

She didn't care about anything other than your wellbeing.

Her eyes were glued to your limp form in Sam's arms. She watched as you shook and bounced slightly as he walked, watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, the soft vibration of your shirt as your heart pounded against it. You were safe and alive. And soon you would be home, warm in your bed and far, far away from the horror of tonight.

And after…

After, Rowena would take care of things. Take care of you. Just as you'd held her, soothed her, loved her through her trauma, she would be there for yours.

After all, it was her fault.

She owed it to you to make it right.


	2. The Haunting Yes

_NOW…_

The house was cold.

Even though it was summer and the night was as warm as a spring morning, the house still felt cold. As if there were ghosts lingering the hallway, haunting the dark rooms.

The hairs on Rowena's arms stood up, sharp and straight as needles. Chills cascaded down her spine, spread over to her neck and then the rest of her body, an invisible veil of frost clinging to her skin, burrowing underneath it, sinking into her bones.

She let Sam carry you to the bedroom, following after him like a puppy. She watched as he lowered you on the bed and hurried to the other side to ruffle the pillow and straighten the sheet underneath you. To make you as comfortable as she could.

She owed you that much.

"She doesn't look hurt too bad," Dean commented as he looked you over intently, scanning every detail of you with utmost precision.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. Locking eyes with Rowena, he said for what must have been the hundredth time since he first saw you, "She's gonna be okay."

Rowena gave a nod and accompanied it with a smile. Forced, but genuine. "Thank you."

She appreciated their help. Immensely so. It had taken them a while, but they came when she'd called. They wanted to help. They didn't make assumptions, didn't throw around accusations. They genuinely wanted to help.

Gone were their days of animosity.

"Of course," Sam said, returning the smile.

Dean responded with a nod.

True to their word, the brothers helped. They worked on your injuries with the same professionalism they showcased while hunting. A few cuts and bruises were rather easy to take care of. Even still, the two of them took it in stride, worked meticulously, carefully, precisely.

Rowena stood aside and watched them. Watched you, unconscious, unresponsive, clueless of the world around you. For how much longer, she wondered? You were bound to wake up anytime now.

Would you be scared? Hurt? Angry? All of the above?

Rowena would be. She had the presence of mind to admit it, to herself at the very least. She would be terrified, out of her mind with panic. Her body would throb, but her soul would ache with the pain she didn't even dare imagine. She would hate it, and herself, and the people that did it to her. But no matter how hard she concentrated on other emotions, the pain would still crush her, cripple her, destroy her from the inside out.

Unlike you, though, she would be the one to blame.

She _was_ the one to blame.

If she hadn't said yes…

Her heart flared, every beat a new flash of pain. As if shards of glass had embedded into it and dug deeper, pulled at the sensitive nerves as it pounded. Her eyes prickled with tears. These she held back; she was sick of crying, sick of being weak, of falling apart over and over like a broken, worn out doll.

As soon as Sam and Dean were finished with your injuries, Rowena pulled a sheet over you. Just in case you were as cold as she was when you woke. Then she ushered the brothers out and, as they awkwardly paced around before settling down on the couch in the living room, poured herself a glass of water and took a long, big swig.

The cool liquid burned at her throat as she swallowed. She relished in the feeling, held on to it, allowed it to ground her. She hadn't had a drink in hours. Her dry, scratchy throat begged for more, and she gave in to it, then refilled the glass and downed the entirety of its contents in one swig.

Strangely, she wasn't as cold anymore. She felt more like herself, if only a tad. More comfortable in her own body. More _alive._

Filling up the glass once more, she grabbed it and, with shaky hands, carried it over to the coffee table. She took a seat on the sofa opposite the Winchester brothers. She could have used a cup of tea, but she was in no condition to make it. She was in no condition to do anything other than sit and stare into empty space until you woke up.

Then she would swallow her pride and do something she rarely, if ever, did — she would apologize. She would own up to her mistakes and apologize. If need be, she would fall to her knees in front of you. Anything to make what happened — what she allowed to happen — at least somewhat right.

"Rowena?" Sam said, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

Rowena perked up, looked right at him. "Yes, Samuel?"

"Can you…" He cleared his throat. Sucked in a breath. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Could she?

She knew she _should._ She owed them an explanation. But…

"No offense, but we found you surrounded by dead bodies," Dean said as tactfully as he could. Rowena could tell he was trying his hardest. "We don't wanna draw conclusions." Sam gave a nod at that. "But you gotta give us something."

She supposed she did.

If she were to walk in on them in a sea of corpses, she would have had questions, too. And just as many opinions, the majority not very flattering.

She sighed.

"It was my fault."

With that she started her story.

* * *

_EARLIER…_

"So," you said that hot, humid afternoon, and Rowena knew right away you wanted something. It was your go-to sentence starter for when you needed favors.

"What do you want?" she asked in a cautious, suspicious tone. You had a tendency to ask for quite ridiculous things. 'I can't do that,' she was preparing to answer. One of her usual responses to your demands, along with 'I will not sacrifice a virgin for your nonsense' and 'The internet lied to you.'

This time, however, what you wanted wasn't of magical nature.

And, instead of a demand, it was more of an offer.

"There's this nightclub," you said, a touch uncertain. Testing the waters.

Rowena cocked up an eyebrow, curious. "Okay?"

"It's called Illuminae," you continued in the same tone. As if you were expecting to be interrupted at any moment, to be told you were annoying and to stop wasting her time. "It's just outside of town, maybe a fifteen minute drive. It's apparently supernatural-only. I was thinking maybe we could check it out tonight?"

Rowena stared.

You blinked innocently.

She kept staring.

You responded with an awkward smile.

A nightclub? You wanted to go to a nightclub? A supernatural one at that?

Who were you and what had you done with her Y/N?

"You want to go to a nightclub?" Rowena echoed her thoughts aloud, her face the picture of confusion, of sheer bafflement. You barely wanted to go to a restaurant. Sometimes she had to promise you sex in order to get you out of the house. What in hell was going on?

You blushed. Shuffled your feet nervously. "I just wanna see what it's like."

She shot you a look that said, loud and clear, _try harder._

You sighed. Your eyes traveled downwards, to your naked feet on the floor. Stuck to your toenails like glue. A deafening, suffocating silence settled over the room for a few moments before you dared yourself to break it.

"You haven't been well lately. I know you've been having nightmares. I woke up to you crying a few times, but I pretended to be asleep. I knew you didn't want me to pry, so I didn't. And yesterday — you had a flashback, didn't you? You didn't say anything, but your face… I _knew_ that look. Lana — that witch I've been chatting with online — mentioned Illuminae, so I thought we could check it out. Get your mind off things, y'know?"

Rowena was flabbergasted.

You'd noticed she was in distress. Noticed the change in her, in her body language. You'd noticed and you didn't say a word for you respected her privacy so much.

She could cry.

She wanted to, but she willed the tears back, forced her face to remain neutral, as blank as possible.

She'd tried so hard to keep everything she'd been going through a secret. She knew how worried you got when she wasn't well, so she kept it to herself. Hid it to the best of her ability.

She should have anticipated this. You were always good at reading her, at figuring out how she ticked. Nothing that concerned her went past you. You knew her like no one else did — like no one else had ever tried to know her. You cared about her with your entire heart and mind and soul. You _loved_ her.

How could you _not_ have noticed?

"Never mind. It's stupid," you said after a few moments of silence.

"No," Rowena said. Her voice sounded strange, more like that of a stranger than her own. As if someone had possessed her body and was speaking through her, for her. "It's not stupid."

She reached for your hand. You let her take it, and she squeezed it with both of hers as if holding on for dear life.

"I think it's a marvelous idea."

You perked up. "Really?"

Rowena grinned, big and bright. Happy. "Aye."

"We don't _have to_ go. It was just a suggestion. I'm not trying to pressure you or anything."

"I know, dearest. I want to go."

It was a great opportunity.

You were right — it _would_ take her mind off her problems, at least for a short while.

Most important of all: you thought of it. You suggested it for her benefit. Even though you hated going out, especially to places crowded with people, you wanted to go out for her. Because you cared. Because you loved her and wanted to cheer her up.

How could she say no to that?

You flashed your brightest smile, face lit up with joy. "It's a deal, then!"

"It is," Rowena confirmed. "What have I done to deserve you?"

"You're you," you replied with a shrug.

Laughing, she pressed her mouth to yours. Sealed the deal with a long, heated kiss.

It was going to be an amazing night.

* * *

  _NOW…_

"I should have said no," Rowena said.

"You couldn't have known what was gonna happen," Sam said softly.

Maybe so. But she'd still said yes. She'd agreed to go, anticipated it even.

She was a bloody idiot!

She sucked in a breath. Swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, thick and heavy. Dug her dirty nails into her thighs.

"I need a shower," she announced, more to herself than to the brothers.

The two of them exchanged a look.

"Uh, sure," Sam said, uncertain how to respond.

"You do that," Dean agreed.

Without another word, she got up and left for the bathroom. She would tell them what happened later. Now, she had to clear her head a bit. Get this filth off her. Clean her body, at the very least, if she couldn't do the same for her guilty conscience.


	3. We're All Freaks Here

_NOW…_

The water was hot, almost boiling. It burned at Rowena's skin, harsh and cruel as liquid whips. Her usually pale body was red, rosy, almost the same shade of her hair.

She barely felt it.

She might as well have showered in the freezing cold.

But she needed the heat. Needed it to wash away the filth, the grime, the blood, caked and rusty, that clung to her like glue, constricting as a second skin. Needed it to clean her, to set her free.

To make her forget, for even a few moments, the night she'd endured.

The more she focused on the stinging, the less she thought of what happened. The less her heart and soul hurt as the memories played over and over in her mind, a constant rerun she couldn't turn off.

_Bang!_

Screaming, loud and piercing.

_Bang, bang, bang!_

So bloody loud her ears stung. Tingles of unease shot through her, empty stomach churning, twisting, roiling.

_Bang, bang, bang!_

Her knees trembled, on the verge of giving in. She lowered herself onto them, her shaky hands gripping onto the edges of the tub, pale knuckles flushing white as sheets at the pressure.

 _Stop it!_ she told herself. It wasn't real — not anymore. She'd lived. She'd survived. Both of you had.

The guilty ones — those sick, twisted _monsters_ — were dead.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

And yet, despite her knowing that, despite knowing she was home, safe and protected, far away from that horrible place, the fear remained. It burrowed itself into her, chilled her bones to their core. Tore her up from the inside like a razor in her veins.

 _It's over,_ she reminded herself. _It's over. It's over. It's over._

She kept repeating it until her mind believed it. Until her tense body loosened up and she was finally able to breathe again.

She waited for the water to turn cold before stepping out and sliding on a soft, silky robe. Her dirty clothes lay in the corner, discarded, thrown off like trash. She spared them a glance, then turned away as her face twisted into a sour, bitter expression.

She would throw them away later.

The story wouldn't tell itself on its own.

* * *

_EARLIER…_

For a place located in a forest in the middle of nowhere, Illuminae was packed. People — monsters — danced and swayed to the too-loud music. Friends talked. Laughed. Had fun. Aside from a few with extra… features, the majority looked very, very human.

For all intents and purposes, the place could easily pass for any other nightclub.

You looked around in awe, mouth wide in a gasp. You'd never seen so many species together, all having fun, getting along. No murder and torture in sight.

Rowena had to admit it was a first one for her, as well.

And, as much as she wasn't a fan of nightclubs, it felt kind of nice to be around people like her.

For just one night, she didn't have to hide who she was in public. She didn't have to fear outrage and accusations. She could just be who she was; Rowena MacLeod; witch, woman, lover.

You were right. This place would be a good distraction.

She wrapped an arm around your waist. You shot her a smile and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then one to her lips.

She didn't have to hide that side of her, either.

Monsters didn't care who she loved.

Here, they were all freaks. They were all different in their own ways. And they were free to be so without judgment, without danger. Without fear of exposure, for exposure was what this was all about.

"I want a drink!" you shouted over the music.

Rowena responded with a nod. She could use a drink herself. Something strong.

The bar was crowded, but the two of you managed to snatch seats from a couple who'd just gotten up to leave. One of the bartenders, a pale girl with striking blue eyes and a black pixie cut walked over to you with the smile of someone who loved her job and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Let me guess — witches."

"How did you know?" you asked.

The girl grinned. "I can recognize my own kind. You can call it a gift." She winked. "This your first time here?"

"Yeah," you said. "A sorta-friend of mine mentioned this place, so we thought we'd check it out."

"Have fun."

"We plan to," Rowena said.

What better way to stop thinking about dreams of being stomped on and set on fire while still alive than getting drunk and sweaty in a nightclub, surrounded by potentially deadly creatures?

The bartender turned to her. Narrowed her piercing eyes as she looked her over, took her in. "There's something familiar about you."

Rowena didn't recall seeing this girl before, but, being alive for almost four centuries, she could have easily forgotten her in a sea of faces she'd come across. Had she wronged her somehow? Harmed her family? Cursed her bloodline?

Were there rumors about her?

Barely any of the witches she used to know talked to her. Her allegiance with Lucifer and her (technically alleged) involvement with High Priestess Olivette's disappearance made them avoid her like the plague and most likely warn the others to do the same. Her going soft and getting acquainted with the Winchesters didn't make the situation any better.

Shoving her questions aside, Rowena pulled on her brightest smile and said in a not-so-humble voice, "Always glad to be recognized."

The bartender chuckled. "Scottish?"

"Born and raised."

The girl's eyes suddenly went wide as realization set in. "Oh, my god!" she exclaimed, happy, ecstatic, on the verge of hyperventilation. "You're Rowena MacLeod!"

Rowena nodded a tad dramatically for no reason other than that she could and she felt like it.

The bartender gasped. "You're so awesome!"

The compliment was melody to Rowena's ears.

Not only did she feel comfortable, but she managed to come across a fan. Maybe this night would be great, after all.

She flashed a wide, ear-to-ear smile. "Why, thank you, darling! That's awfully kind of you to say."

It had been a while since she'd last seen a witch who wanted to talk to her. Who liked her, adored her. Possibly even looked up to her.

Other than you, of course.

It had cost you dearly, though. The witch community had declared you guilty by association, so you were just as much a pariah as she was.

A match made in hell, indeed.

"You're so sweet!" the bartender said, still in awe. "God, it's such a honor to meet you!"

Rowena shook her hand. The girl flinched at the touch, then her pale skin flushed bright, cherry red.

Fangirling, you would call it. Rowena wasn't too fond of the modern terms you used, but this one, she thought, fit perfectly.

The bartender was a fangirl. Rowena's.

Rowena's heart swelled up with pride. She was still in the game, still appreciated. Some witches may have dragged her through the mud, but there were still those who didn't let their rubbish ruin her reputation.

"She's a total sweetheart," you chimed in, flashing her your brightest smile. "Don't let the bitchface fool you. She's adorable."

Rowena playfully slapped your shoulder.

You hit her back.

The bartender laughed. "You guys together?"

"For three years now," you said with a nod.

"Lucky girl."

"I tell myself that every day."

No, Rowena thought. _She_ was the lucky one. You loved her despite her initial coldness, despite her inability to reciprocate. You put up with her rejection. With her complete and utter indifference. With the knowledge that, had the circumstances demanded it, she would have left you for dead to save her own skin.

She had been the one to take the first step, to decide to give the relationship a try, for, after witnessing the emptiness Charles and Amara were filled with despite being the two most powerful creatures in existence, her heart yearned for something. For meaning. For a home. For something she, at the time, couldn't name — that had, as soon as she'd let it show, turned out to be love.

The truth was, she'd loved you, too. She was just afraid to show it, to let herself feel it.

It was you, through your endless patience and care, who'd taught her it was okay to do it. Who'd shown her it was okay to feel, to care, to love.

Instead of uttering a retort, Rowena pressed her mouth to yours. You locked your lips with hers, deepened the short but sweet kiss. Ever hungry for the taste of her.

"You guys are so cute," the bartender said. "Since this is your first time here, may I suggest Witch's Brew?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow, confused. "Excuse me?"

"It's a drink," the bartender explained. "Illuminae exclusive."

"Why the hell not," you said. "We're here to have fun."

Rowena grinned her agreement.

The drink, it turned out, was heavenly. A perfect mix of bitter and sweet, strong enough to burn her throat, to light her insides on fire on its way to her stomach. She'd only had two, and she already felt relaxed. Light on her feet, as if she were floating, gliding through the crowded club with the ease of a ghost.

You'd had five and wanted more.

"I don't think that's a good idea, love," Rowena said as patiently as she could.

"But it's soooooo good," you said. "It's like juice."

It certainly was as sweet and tasty. But it was also alcohol.

"It's alcohol," Rowena reminded you.

"I don't even feel it."

Your swaying body and slurred speech said otherwise.

"You will get sick," she said patiently. "Remember last time?"

A few months back you'd found your love for cocktails. Sweet, sugary, juice-like cocktails.

The night ended with you proclaiming your enormous love for the toilet you were hunched over.

"That was different. Last time I had seven," you said.

"Six," Rowena corrected, "and this is stronger."

"But I feel fiiiiine!"

As soon as you said that you stumbled. Instinctively, Rowena's hands shot up around you, kept you steady on your feet. You doubled over, hands on your stomach. Hugging yourself as if someone had punched you straight in the gut.

"Rowena," you said in a small voice, "I don't feel good."

Of course you didn't. Of bloody course!

Rowena sighed. "Come, let's get to a toilet."

Following the bartender's direction, Rowena guided you through the crowd to the toilet in the back. Luckily, save for two women exiting just as the two of you walked in, it was empty. No stalls were occupied. No people to ask questions, to stick their nose where it didn't belong.

You had privacy.

As soon as she led you to a stall, the one on the very end for it appeared to be the cleanest, you fell to your knees before the toilet, pressed your hands to it for support, and started vomiting. Rowena grabbed your hair, held it up as you emptied the contents of your stomach.

A sour, foul stench rose up in the air. Her face twisted with disgust, but she refrained from any comments. You were sick. It was your fault, but still, you were sick. Snide commentary wouldn't make anything better.

"It's going to be okay," she said, her free hand rubbing your back gently, softly, as if you were a child in need of comfort.

You retched. Coughed. Gasped for breath as if you'd been breathless for hours. "This sucks," you rasped.

"Glad you didn't have that sixth drink, aren't you?" Rowena teased.

"Don't," you whined.

She chuckled. "You're such a child."

"And you're a bitch," you said half-heartedly.

"Been called worse, dear."

Slowly, carefully, she helped you to your feet. Your knees trembled, and, with all the strength you could muster, you held onto her for support. For a drunk person, you had an impressive grip.

Rowena helped you to the sink. You splashed cold water on your face, washed away the heat, the sweat that had bubbled over it.

"Better?" she asked.

"A bit," you said honestly. "My head is spinning."

"Witch's Brew is strong."

"I can tell."

"It's not juice."

"I get it, Rowena." You looked up at her, eyes that of a hurt puppy. "You're being mean."

"Tough love," she said with a shrug.

"I hate you."

"Of course you do, dearest."

She pressed a kiss to your cheek. You gave in to it, melted under the feel of her hot skin on yours.

"Shall we go home?" she inquired.

You shook your head. "I'm good."

"But—"

"This is your night," you reminded her.

"And I'm extremely grateful for it," Rowena said. "But I don't want to party at your expense."

"I'm really fine," you insisted.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She sighed, defeated. This was a fight she knew she wouldn't win.

"We can dance," you said.

Rowena frowned. "You can't dance."

One time she'd tried to teach you and almost lost her toes over it.

You laughed. "You can teach me."

Uh oh.

"Fine," she gave in.

Another pointless, losing fight.

"But," she added, "you step on my toes and we're done."

"Deal," you said, giggling.

Rowena let out a laugh of her own. If you could go out to a crowded nightclub for her, she could sacrifice her toes for one dance. It was only fair.

A sound sharp as a whip suddenly boomed through the club.

The music died down, and what were sounds of joy, of chatter, of laughter a mere moment ago was now an eruption of screams that turned blood to ice.

Rowena shot you a look, face turning grim, dark, serious. Yours echoed it. Your hand reached for hers, an instinct, fingers wrapping around hers in a bone-crushing grip.

And just like that her night of fun, of distraction, turned into a night of terror.

* * *

_NOW…_

Words caught in Rowena's throat that suddenly felt tight, as if someone had grabbed it and wouldn't let go. Her hair, wet, dripping, soaked her robe. The fabric clung to her skin, stuck to her back as if glued.

She sucked in a breath in an attempt to calm herself, but it did nothing. Her heart still beat like crazy, hands still shook, legs trembled. Her body was in a frenzy, overwhelmed, and there was no coming down from it.

"Rowena," Sam said gently, reaching out his hand.

She put her hand up to stop his. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Dean inquired.

"Aye. It's just a story."

That was right. It was just a story. The danger was done and over with. She was safe. _You_ were safe.

Why was she afraid, then? Why did telling the story make her feel as if she were back in Illuminae, surrounded by death and danger? Why did every word that came out of her mouth taste like blood?

"Besides," she added, willing a smile — fake, but hopefully convincing, "we're just getting to the good part."


	4. Lying Liar That Lies

_EARLIER…_

A boom of screams.

An echo of shots, loud and deafening.

An eruption of glass-shattering shrieks.

An explosion of bullets. _Bang, bang, bang._

It went on and on, a sickening repetition that made Rowena's stomach churn. The alcohol she'd consumed earlier, the wonderful but strong Witch's Brew, sloshed with every new sound that thundered.

Her knees felt weak. Goosebumps bloomed over her skin like flowers welcoming the morning sun. A sudden chill ran through her, despite the rather high temperature in the club.

What was going on?

Who was shooting?

Why were they shooting?

The answers came in the form of a scream in the ruckus outside, a panicked, helpless exclamation of, "HUNTERS!"

A new round of shots rang through the club, and the person who'd shouted out the warning cried out, loud, pained, before her voice died down, forever extinguished.

 _Shit,_ Rowena thought. _Shit, shit, shit!_

Of course it was hunters. Of bloody course!

She had the luck to find herself in a raid, because of course she did.

 _Bloody hell, Rowena!_ she chastised herself.

Bloody hell it was, indeed.

"Rowena," you said in a small, trembling voice. Trying your hardest to remain as calm as you could, to not let your fear show.

"I'm right here, dear," she said. Emphasized her words by squeezing your linked fingers, holding tighter. A wordless promise that she wasn't going anywhere, that she would stay with you and protect you.

"Is it hunters?" you asked reluctantly. Unsure if you really wanted to know.

A pang of pain shot through Rowena. The truth — the reality — hurt.

"Seems like it."

"I'm scared," you whimpered.

"I know." She pulled on a smile, an encouraging one that promised protection. You didn't appear convinced, so she switched tactics. Let her face fall serious. Locked her eyes with yours. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She would keep you safe. Protect you. Defend you with her life. Do anything and everything necessary to keep you unharmed.

She owed you that much.

Contrary to her reputation, she wasn't a cold, heartless bitch. She could feel. She could care. She could love.

And she loved you. So much that her heart hurt every time she thought of it. There was nothing she wouldn't do for you.

She'd lost Oskar and Fergus, but she wouldn't lose you.

She would rather die than let you down like she did them.

You nodded in response. Sniffled and wiped your eyes that had filled up with unshed tears.

"You're safe with me," Rowena said.

"I know," you said without a moment's hesitation.

Your trust in her was immense, couldn't be encompassed with words.

She swore to never lose it.

Without another word, she led you back to the stall you'd been in earlier and closed the door. You pressed your back against the wall, hands folded over your mouth to stifle incoming sounds of distress. Rowena pushed you further back, her head high, spine straight and proud, body poised before yours like a shield.

"Prepare to cast spells, just in case," she said in a hushed tone.

"Okay," you said. "Anyone comes through this door, I'll Abi them."

Rowena smiled proudly. "Good girl."

* * *

_NOW…_

"You hid in the bathroom?" Dean asked, cocking up his eyebrows in surprise.

Interrupting her. Unnecessarily.

Rowena shot him a look that said as much. "I apologize if our emergency hiding place hurts your delicate sensibilities."

The hunter looked away in shame.

Sam snickered.

Rowena sighed. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Keep going," Sam told her in that warm tone of voice that made her irritation instantly vanish.

The man had a talent for sweet talk.

As did his brother for stupidity.

Rowena cleared her throat. "We stayed there for a while…"

* * *

_EARLIER…_

People rushed in an out of the bathroom. Raided the stalls. Hid in the free ones. Screamed. Cried. Whimpered.

Begged for help that wouldn't come.

They were monsters, undesirables. The world didn't care about them — didn't _want to_ care about them.

They had no one to save them but themselves.

And that wasn't enough.

Not when faced with a group of hunters so obviously skilled and prepared. They must have planned this raid for weeks, perhaps even months. Escaping them would be a miracle.

Rowena had lived far too long to believe in miracles.

But she also knew her own strength. She could defend herself. She could protect you. She could _kill_ them.

She just had to be smart about it.

A few bangs landed on her stall door. Hands gripped the handle, tried to pry the door open, to force their way in. Rowena held on and shouted out a few Scottish choice words that made them back away.

She felt bad, but this was her stall. Her safe place. Her and yours. As much as she wished she could help others, you came first.

"It's okay," she repeated for the umpteenth time when you flinched. Her hand gripped yours, held on for dear life. A silent emphasis of her words. "You're safe, love. I promise."

A lie, she'd come to realize mere minutes later. A gross, despicable lie she would never forgive herself for.

The ruckus continued for a few more moments.

Then shots echoed, so close it felt as if a bomb went off right next to her ear.

Terrified screams boomed in response, bloodcurdling, panicked.

A few pleas for mercy were uttered, none taken to heart, all laughed at.

Stalls were forced open, its inhabitants pulled out kicking and pleading and screaming.

The monsters cried.

The hunters laughed.

Bullets rang.

And then — silence.

So suffocating Rowena found herself begging for gasps of breath.

She kept it in, though. Breathed slow and shallow. Quiet.

Her hand was on your mouth, clasped over yours to keep you from crying out. Your face was swollen with tears, eyes red and puffy. You were drowning, your entire body shaking as if struck by a fever.

Rowena's heart ached. She hated seeing you like that. Hated seeing you in pain, scared to breathe, to blink. It wasn't right.

It wasn't _fair._

"Think she's in there?" one of the hunters said, pacing back and forth. Footsteps rushed, excited.

She?

Who was she?

"Most likely," another replied. "She's gotta be _somewhere."_

"Do we even know she came here?"

"She did. If she left, we would've seen her."

"I dunno, man. I heard she's sneaky."

A chuckle. "She's a _monster._ Of course she's sneaky."

 _Fuck you,_ Rowena thought, anger flaring.

She and you and everyone else in this nightclub may be monsters by nature, but it was these hunters that had chosen to be so. They made the choice to be who they were, to do what they did.

They were the true monsters here. The ones who murdered and destroyed without a shred of mercy.

This club wasn't hurting anybody. The people here weren't out to cause trouble. They just wanted to have fun. Wanted to, for at least a few hours, forget the world that hated them, that made them hide who they were, that forced them to live in shadows. Wanted to forget their troubles, only to be met with death.

Rowena's eyes found yours, locked with them long and hard. _Get ready,_ they said. A fight was inevitable. You — _both_ of you — had to give it your all. Had to be prepared for the worst and act accordingly.

These hunters wouldn't stop until you were dead.

The only way out was sending them to Hell first.

You nodded at her. Rowena nodded back. A wordless understanding. _You're going to be okay,_ she thought. _You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay._ She kept repeating it over and over, as if the more she said it would make it true. She was the senior witch. The older, more experienced one. You were her responsibility.

She wouldn't let you down.

The stall door burst open. Rowena reacted right away; a shout of _"Abi"_ and the hunter standing beside it went flying into the wall. She spat out the magic word a few more times, flicked the men back one by one.

But as they went, others took their place. Before she could cast the spell again, a big, burly hunter slapped her across the face. Her head swung to the side from the force of the blow. A sharp ache shot through her neck at the sudden movement. Her cheek stung as if burned. A ringing rumbled in her ears, so loud it drowned out the voices shouting in the background.

Someone's fingers, thick, meaty, tangled in her hair and pulled her out. An involuntary hiss escaped her mouth. She was shoved into the wall, tossed with ease like a ragdoll. Her body exploded with pain, but she kept it in behind tightly grit teeth. She was a big girl; she could take it. Whatever they threw on her, she could take it.

She had, after all, lived through worse.

She hadn't begged Lucifer, and she sure as hell wouldn't beg these fannies.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a scream. _Your_ scream. She whipped her head back, ignoring the pain in her neck, to see the a man equally big as the one who'd hit her pulling you out by wrists. His other hand slammed over your mouth, stifling the spells you were trying to utter.

Your eyes locked with hers for a quick second. Then you took in the loo, the bodies strewn about it, the blood drenching its floor like water, and your eyes widened, shocked, terrified. A stifled wail broke free; it came out as a moan through your captured mouth, no less frightened, no less heartbreaking.

The hunter holding Rowena pulled out a gun. Clicked the safety off. Pressed the barrel to her forehead.

Her heart stopped. Were those witch-killing bullets? Or iron ones? Or—

"Don't kill her!" one of the hunters standing by the entry suddenly shouted. "We _need_ her."

"I know, I know," the man with the gun said, irritation dripping from his tone. "I gotta control her somehow."

"Then cuff her"

Sighing, he lowered his gun, then pulled out what looked like a bracelet and slapped it onto her left wrist.

An iron cuff.

Lovely.

"You really think she'll talk?"

"Oh, she'll talk."

There was a strange conviction in his voice, and a wide, disturbing sneer spread over his face to confirm it.

Rowena's stomach twisted. Turned. She didn't like the implication — not at all.

Was this why they were here? To capture her? To make her talk?

But about what? What was it that they wanted to know?

And what made them think she would tell them, even if she did know?

"We have leverage."

Rowena tracked the man's eyes, tracked the evil in them.

All the way over to you.

No.

No, no, no.

_No!_

"Cuff her, too."

Tears prickled at her eyes. She willed them back, urged them not to fall. Not to stain her eyes red.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to get you out of here, protect you, as she'd promised. Not have you used as leverage against her.

Yet another loved one she'd let down. Another person in her life she'd put in danger.

All because she'd said yes.

Why did she have to say yes?


	5. These Monstrous Things

_EARLIER…_

The nightclub, once full of life, now resembled a graveyard. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Covered every surface. Piled on top of each other. Bled. Grew colder and colder with every passing second.

Gone was the life Illuminae used to radiate with, bright as the morning sun.

All that was left was death. Cold. Unforgiving. Permanent.

Rowena shivered, skin breaking out in goosebumps. She looked at the dead around her as the hunters led you and her out of the loo. There were so many young people. So many teenagers — practically children. She shoved the realization aside, smoothened her features into a look that, she hoped, showed the bare minimum.

She would've preferred to show nothing, but she wasn't that good an actress.

Some of the corpses had their eyes wide open, forever frozen in shock. As Rowena glanced at them, over them, it felt as if were looking back.

They killed them. All of them. Just like that. Without a moment's hesitation. Just killed and killed and killed until everyone was dead.

Yet they called them monsters. They called you and her monsters.

All the people in this club did was live.

And they died for it, for their life, their living, was different. Non-human.

The bulky hunter that had attacked her earlier shoved her into one of the chairs at the bar.

"Sit," he barked.

Not wanting any trouble — yet — Rowena did as he asked.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of one of the bodies behind the bar. The bartender's striking blue eyes stared back, open wide.

She didn't even know her name. This girl liked her, and Rowena hadn't even bothered to ask for her name.

"Here's how this is gonna go," one of the hunters, a slim, tall man dressed up like a lumberjack, said. "You tell us what we wanna know and you die quickly. You play games, and you'll beg for death."

"I don't beg," Rowena said. An automatic response, uttered before she could shut her mouth to keep the words in.

"Oh, you will," he all but purred.

She snorted. Huffed. Rolled her eyes in that signature dramatic way you always teased her about. "Think this is my first time being captured?"

She'd had her encounters with hunters in the past. Had once, centuries ago, almost been burned at the stake. Had been captured by the British Men of Letters, by that brute sadist Arthur Ketch. Had spent weeks in a dungeon, tormented by demons. Had been trampled and burned to death.

She'd survived it all. She'd survived with her head held high. Scars remained on her soul, some still aching, still fresh, but she'd survived.

And she would survive once again.

Iron didn't hold her long. Especially not now, with her magic unbound, almost limitless.

The wee cuff on her wrist would loosen sooner or later. She just had to wait. And then…

Then these hunters — these utter _monsters —_ would beg for mercy.

And they would get none. Just as their victims hadn't.

"I know how these things go," she said, a tad too confident, but she couldn't help it. Confidence was better than fear, which she'd shoved deep within. They didn't get the satisfaction of seeing her frightened. "I don't talk, you torture me, rinse and repeat. So why don't we just get it over with? Start the torture, because I am not telling you a bloody thing."

"No!" you screamed.

You tried to run to her, to break free, but the hunter next to you captured your forearms in his iron grip and held you in place. Held you back, away from the person you loved, the person you wanted to protect.

Rowena's heart swelled up. You precious wee thing. Always fighting for her, trying your best even when there was nothing you could do. Loving her so purely, so endlessly. So _recklessly._ She didn't deserve you. Didn't deserve someone who put her first — not after everything she'd done, after all the pain she'd caused. After she'd destroyed and betrayed everyone she loved, everyone who loved her.

After she'd promised to keep you safe and had instead allowed these brutes to get their hands on you.

"Rowena!" you called.

"It's okay, love," she said, locking eyes with you in an intense, decisive stare. _I can take it,_ it said. _I'll live. I'll survive._ "Don't worry."

But you did. You worried, and your face echoed it. Tears spilled down it like a bitter, salty river. Never ending. Unstoppable. Rowena held her own ones back. She had to be strong for you. Whatever happened, she had to take it with dignity, with pride, for that was what you needed. That was how you would survive.

The Lumberjack laughed, heartily, happily, as if he were watching a comedy. "This is hilarious," he said, and meant it. He meant it from the bottom of his wicked soul. "Nice show they got here, right boys?"

The others snickered. Chuckled. Snorted like the pigs they were.

Rowena stared them down. Each and every one of them. Shot them a deadly glare, the one that sent even the boldest, bravest to their knees.

Her weakness wouldn't last long.

Their deaths, on the other hand, would be permanent. Demons would await them with open arms, would no doubt have fun torturing their souls.

Eternal suffering. That would be her gift to them. And she would deliver it with a smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," you said through tears, voice raspy, breathy. "Rowena, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Rowena told you.

 _It's mine,_ she thought. If she hadn't said yes — if she hadn't readily agreed to go out to avoid her demons…

"It actually is," your capturer said with a grin, a wide, smug one that Rowena wanted to wipe off with her fist. He looked down at you. Brushed his hand over yours in a gesture that seemed a tad too intimate to be accidental.

Rowena's heart raced, a rush of heat flowing over her. Her knuckles turned white as sheets as her fists shut tight, nails digging into her palms, biting down almost to the point of drawing blood.

He had no right to touch you like that. No right to be that close to you.

When she killed them, she would start with him, she decided. He would be first. An example to others of what was to come.

"I enjoyed our chats," the hunter said.

Your eyes widened in shock as realization set in, cruel and unforgiving.

He chuckled, amused. Way too pleased with himself. "Yeah, I'm Lana. Nice to finally meet you in person."

For a few seconds you just stared straight ahead. Petrified. Confused. Processing what you'd just been told so casually, as if it were a game.

To him it probably was.

Toying with you, pretending to be your friend, slowly gaining your trust… It was a game of pretend, and he excelled. He played the part perfectly. Said all the right things, played on all the right emotions, and bam — you were a fly captured in his cobweb, an unwitting player.

Oh, how Rowena would enjoy killing him!

"You motherfucker!" you suddenly screamed, all the anger and rage and desperation rushing out in a fury of words. "You sick, twisted motherfucker!"

"Says a monster," he retorted.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Ooh, I'm scared."

You ignored the remark. "I'm gonna rip your eyes out and feed them to you!"

"That how you usually kill people?"

"Fuck you!"

It wasn't. Rowena knew that, and he would have, too, if he'd bothered to learn anything about you. You killed in self-defense. In defense of others, of her. Killed to avenge. Not a single innocent had suffered at your hand.

Not that any of it mattered to hunters. You weren't human, and that was enough to warrant your death.

"If it makes you feel any better, we weren't interested in you," the hunter said. "We just wanted your girlfriend. She's quite infamous, that one!"

It was for her?

All these deaths, these lives lost and yours in danger, so they could get to her?

"You did all this just to get to me?" Rowena asked.

"Oh, no. We've been planning this raid for months," the Lumberjack said. "Getting you here was a bonus. Mike did good, don't you think?"

Mike.

 _Arsehole_ fit him so much better.

He grinned proudly.

Rowena wished she could spit on him.

"You've wasted your time, lads," she said. "You're not getting a single word from me!"

"I think you'll come to change your mind," the Lumberjack said. "Torturing you wouldn't do anything, true. Lucky for us, we've got other options."

He looked back. Rowena's eyes followed his, heart stopping as they landed on you.

_The leverage._

Of course.

"Y/N's such a pretty girl, isn't she? It'd be a shame if something were to happen to her."

"You wouldn't dare!" she snarled.

But she knew he would. She'd known it from the start, but it was easier not to think about it. It was easier to pretend she would be the one getting hurt, getting beaten and broken as she kept her mouth firmly shut to every question, while you cried in the background and begged for mercy that wouldn't come.

She would gladly subject herself to it. Gladly take your place. No questions asked.

"Oh, we would," the Lumberjack said.

As if on cue, Mike caressed your arm, ran his hand up and down your skin. You shivered at the touch. A whimper escaped you, fear etching over your face, digging into your bones.

"This is low, even for the likes of you," Rowena said, pouring all her strength into keeping her voice from wavering. From revealing her weakness, the utter turmoil she was in.

The Lumberjack shrugged. Puffed out a breath. Careless, utterly indifferent. "We're professionals."

"You're _cunts!"_

A few "oohs" echoed through the massive room.

He chuckled. "You Scots really are liberal with your insults."

"You've heard nothing yet!"

"I bet I haven't. And I hope I won't, otherwise your little girlfriend will pay for it. So use your pretty mouth wisely, would you? I'd hate for her to break before we got to the questioning."

"What do you want?!" she snarled a tad too desperately for her liking.

"Information," he said.

Then she would give it to them, she decided, even as her heart broke and shattered and crumbled in her chest at the mere thought. Whatever they wanted, she would give. Anything for you.

If they wanted to torture her, she would keep quiet. But with the threat of harm hanging over your head, she couldn't risk it. Couldn't afford to risk it.

She'd made you a promise she'd already half broken — and she would do her best to make good on the rest of it.

"I want you to tell us about the covens," Lumberjack continued.

Rowena frowned. Heart racing. Blood running cold. "What?"

With a sneer that sent chills down her spine, he said, "Tell us everything you know about the witch covens in the United States."

And just like that, she knew she was in trouble. That _you_ were in trouble.

For, save for the long gone and broken down Grand Coven, she knew not of a single coven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely editor, not just for editing, but also for coming up with the Lana thing.


	6. The Waking Nightmare

_NOW…_

"You didn't tell them anything?" Dean asked.

"I had nothing to tell," Rowena replied, swallowing, sucking in a breath, balling her fists — anything to keep her rising anger at bay.

She didn't like his tone. Didn't like the way his eyes narrowed into slits like that of a snake. Didn't like the suspicion on his face, the clear, unmasked disbelief.

He didn't believe her and he had no qualms about letting her know about it.

She didn't care. She didn't give a single fuck what he thought, what he believed. He'd wanted to hear the story, and she was telling it as it was.

She hadn't lied when it mattered, when your wellbeing, your _life,_ depended on it.

And she sure as hell wasn't lying now.

"I'm not on good terms with the witch community," Rowena added, even though she didn't have to. She didn't owe him an explanation. "They've practically exiled me."

Good riddance. If not for the power she'd been seeking, for the knowledge she'd needed to harness it, she would have estranged herself from those pompous cowards centuries ago. They'd always feared her power. Had tried over and over to sabotage her, to make her out to be a fool. They'd taken advantage of her, used her, abused her. Treated her like trash.

She was better off without them.

"I didn't know anything about the covens they were asking about."

If she knew, she would have told them. Guilt would have eaten her alive, but she would have told them.

The truth was, the majority of the people who'd been cruel to her were gone. There were, no doubt, plenty of new covens around. Groups of young girls and boys bonding, coming together in these times of acceptance. They didn't have hide like they used to. Didn't have to look over their shoulder after every step, startle at every shadow… They could just _be._

Rowena would have traded them all for you in a heartbeat.

Tears filled up her eyes. She tried to will them back, but one broke free, slid down her face in a wet, bitter trail. She wiped it away with her palm. Rubbed at her tender cheek.

It should have been her. Those hunters should have hurt her. She was the reason they were there. The reason they'd manipulated you, tricked you with a false name and a promise of friendship. The reason you'd suffered so horribly.

She would have deserved it.

You had not.

A hand suddenly landed on her shoulder. Rowena looked up, shaken from her thoughts, only to meet Sam's eyes, ever gentle, ever kind. Friendly to the bone.

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

She lowered her gaze to her feet. Focused on the soft pink polish adorning her toenails. Stared at the specks of glitter in it, started counting them to distract her troubled mind. "If I told them what they wanted to know, they wouldn't have…"

They wouldn't have done what they had.

They wouldn't have tried to—

"You didn't know," Sam said. "Y/N wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

You wouldn't.

You would blame yourself, instead.

"They-they hurt her," Rowena said, and finally tears spilled, drenched her reddened cheeks like a downpour. Her eyes found Sam's once again and locked with them, stared into them long and hard. "They _hurt_ her, Sam."

_Because of me._

He was quiet for a few moments, taking her words, her broken expression, in. Then he said, "She's gonna be fine. She's strong."

Rowena shook her head. "Sam, you don't know…"

Don't know everything that happened.

Don't know the whole story.

"She… They…"

She breathed deep, in and out, like a mantra. Her heart hammered as if she'd run a marathon, hands shaking in tune with the beats.

She couldn't talk about it. Not now. She needed some time to compose herself, to get her thoughts in order. To will her body to remain calm — as calm as possible — as she told the final part of the story.

As if on cue, a sound strangely alike moaning made her ears perk up. She stilled, willed her raging storm of thoughts to calm, as she focused on the sound.

There it was again. A moan, similar to the mewl of a cat. Soft, with a hint of desperation to it. Helpless.

Yours.

Rowena's face lit up.

You were awake.

She got you back. She could hold you. Kiss you. Tell you she loved you.

Tell you she was sorry.

She froze at the prospect. What if you were mad at her? What if you wanted nothing to do with her?

She would want nothing to do with herself after what had happened.

Regardless, she decided, she needed to see you. Even if you rejected her, the least you deserved was an apology.

"Sounds like Y/N's awake," Dean, said.

Rowena's face fell, all brightness draining from it.

Sam, in turn, squeezed her shoulder. "Go talk to her. It's gonna be okay."

Aye.

It was going to be okay.

Easier said than done.

* * *

It was when she neared the bedroom door that Rowena heard the full extent of your moan, heard with clarity what you were saying.

Her name.

You were calling to her. Weak, spent, you were trying to reach her, trying to get her to come over. Yearning to see her even after everything.

A pang of pain shot through Rowena, sharp as a blade sinking into her skin, cutting her up from the inside out.

You'd gone through so much. Endured pain and trauma that would no doubt last for as long as you lived. Suffered. Bled. Cried. All because of her.

And you still wanted her by your side.

You still needed her like the air you breathed. The same way she needed you.

She opened the door slowly and walked in, steps soft, light, careful. Your eyes widened as they fell upon her. A light flickered in them, a sliver of joy barely visible to those who didn't know you.

Rowena knew you all too well to notice even the smallest details, the quietest words of your body's language.

"You're here," you said, sighing in relief.

"Of course I am," she replied. "Where else would I be?"

She wouldn't leave you alone. Not after—

"You brought me home," you said, eyes darting over the room. _Your_ room — yours and hers. The safest, most comfortable place in the world, you'd once called it. A haven. A refuge.

"Aye," Rowena confirmed. "Not on my own, though. The Winchesters helped."

You shot her a surprised look. "You called them?"

She nodded.

You gulped. "What about… about, y'know… _them?"_

The hunters. Those monstrous, sadistic brutes.

Rowena let out a breath. "They know."

You froze, features turning grim, terrified. Coated in rising panic. "They _know?"_

"Not everything," Rowena assured you. Taking a seat next to you on the bed, she took your hand in hers and interlaced them, intertwined the fingers into a tight knit. "I didn't tell them about…"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

From the way you breathed in and out, you appreciated it. What they did — what they tried to do… you couldn't bear putting a name on it. Not yet.

Rowena couldn't, either. Naming it would make it real. Make it hurt so much more. Make her feel ever guiltier.

Tears sprung from your eyes, fell like waterfalls. "Rowena, I'm scared," you said in a voice so small it made her heart shatter.

She tightened her grip on your hand, an emphasis, a promise. "You've nothing to fear, love. They're dead."

And if they weren't, she would make them dead — after she made them beg her to kill them, to end their suffering.

"You're safe now."

"I don't feel safe," you admitted.

Rowena knew the feeling well. After her second death at Lucifer's hands, brutal as it was, she was scared of her own shadow. She kept looking over her shoulder, terrified she would see him, that he would return to finish what he started and would make it hurt even more. That he would torment her over and over, for days, _weeks_ on end, no pause, no reprieve of death — not for a long while.

For a while she couldn't leave the house. She'd kept checking the warding guarding it, hiding it, over and over, like a mantra. Your assurances that it was fine, that she was safe here didn't do much. A momentary relief would wash over her as she buried her head in your chest and you enveloped her in a tight hug, but it would pass far too quickly and she would be back at square one, shaking with fear, struggling to breathe, heart racing madly.

You'd stayed by her side through it all. Stayed through random crying fits, through nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night. You were helpless, but you'd stayed. You'd endured. Kept her grounded, fought for her when she'd lost the strength to fight for herself.

She would do the same for you, she decided. She _swore_ on her life. She loved you too much to stay by helplessly, uselessly, as you suffered. She couldn't cure you, couldn't take the pain away, but she could be there.

"I know, love," Rowena said. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but it will pass."

"When?" you asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. No point in lying, in sugar-coating the truth. You'd been there when she was going through it; you knew how these things went. "But it will pass. It _will."_

You nodded, taking her words in. Letting them settle in your brain. "You're sure they're dead?"

"Aye. Every single one."

She'd personally made sure of it.

A fresh batch of tears spilled from your eyes. Your lower lip trembled, followed by your hands. Your eyes locked with hers, then wandered aside, red, watery, scared. "I'm sorry," you whimpered.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Rowena said with enough firmness in her tone to get her point across.

"We were there because of me."

She shook her head. "I said yes."

"Because I asked you," you argued.

"You wanted to help me," she pointed out.

"And I almost got you killed!" A whine, so much like that of a hurt puppy that Rowena's heart fluttered with pain, tore from your throat. "I let that asshole trick me."

"It could've happened to anyone," Rowena told you.

"But it happened to me," you said. "And you got hurt."

"I'm fine. I promise." She squeezed her hand in emphasis of her words. "I've made plenty of mistakes myself. I trusted Lucifer, for goodness' sake!" She still bore the scars from it — mental ones, imprinted on her soul, on her mind, on her heart, that, despite the time passed, still hurt like fresh, open wounds. "Don't be hard on yourself, love. I don't blame you a bit."

"Why?" you said in a small, small voice.

"Because you didn't do anything wrong. Because…" She sucked in a breath, a big, painful one. "Because those brutes were there for _me."_

"Rowena, it wasn't your fault," you said. "You didn't know."

It was. She was to blame for you getting tricked. For you getting _hurt._ If it weren't for her, none of it would have happened.

"How are you feeling?" Rowena asked, itching for a change of subject. The guilt argument could last for days and would accomplish nothing. You blamed yourself, and she blamed herself. No debates or arguments would change that. You were both too stubborn for your own good.

You sighed, but still responded, "Nothing hurts, if that's what you're asking."

She was, partially so. "Good. And emotionally? Other than scared."

"I'm…" You pondered on it for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order. "Confused. I don't know how to… how to feel about it. Is that weird?"

"It's natural," Rowena told you.

A ghost of a smile grazed your mouth. "I don't feel dirty or anything. I know it's not my fault. But… I feel like I should feel _more,_ y'know? Like I'm missing something."

"I'm glad." Because it wasn't your fault. What those men did — what _he_ did — was on them. "The rest will clear up soon."

"I hope so. I'm not gonna be scared of men or something, right?"

You looked at her with hope in your eyes, begging her to say no. Begging her to tell you you wouldn't have to go through life with that particular fear.

"Some women are," Rowena replied honestly.

Your lip quivered. "I don't wanna be."

"Whatever happens, I'm going to be here. I am not going to leave you."

You smiled, utterly grateful. "Thank you."

"You never have to thank me for that."

It wasn't a service she was providing. It was love, and love was free. Her only payment was your happiness.

Raising yourself up into a sitting position, you threw your arms around her. Rowena returned the hug hastily, without a moment's hesitation. It felt so good to hold you, to feel your warmth against her. To have your immense trust, no second guessing, no doubts shadowing it.

She held onto you for dear life, squeezed you almost to the point of pain. You reciprocated just as ferociously. Her abused side ached, but she ignored it; ignored the pain, the bruise that would no doubt develop soon. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but you.

"You can tell them," you suddenly said.

Rowena frowned, confused. "What?"

"Sam and Dean," you elaborated. "You can tell them what happened."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"If you're doing this for me—"

"I'm doing it for us both."

Fair point.

"Okay," Rowena conceded. "I'll tell them."

"Could you give me some time alone, please?" you asked.

Pulling back, she looked at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you said. "I'd just like to be alone for a bit. Think about some things. If that's okay."

"Of course!"

Sometimes, solitude was a comfort.

She'd been there.

"I'll be in the living room with the boys," Rowena said. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you."

She pressed her mouth to yours in a quick kiss, then got up to head out. Just as her hand landed on the doorknob, your voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Rowena?"

She turned back. "Yes, dearest?"

You cleared your throat. Sucked in a large breath. "Thank you for saving me."

Rowena smiled, big and bright. "I told you, you never have to thank me for that."

And then she was out the door.


	7. Purple with Anger

_NOW…_

"How is she doing?" Sam asked as soon as she reappeared in the living room.

"She's… dealing," Rowena replied. The shortest, most concise answer she could think of. They didn't need to hear that, despite your injuries, you were physically okay. That you were scared and spent and, even though you still weren't sure how you felt about what had transpired, you weren't feeling _right._ Weren't feeling at peace.

The hunter gave a nod, small and curt. "She's gonna be okay. She's strong." There was an earnestness in his tone, raw concern that screamed true, genuine.

You were. Impossibly strong and brave, a miracle in the form of a person. The one person who loved Rowena endlessly, truthfully, with all you had, despite all the bad. All you'd seen from the very start was the good in her.

Charles, she loved you!

She loved you so much her heart hurt from the intensity of the feeling, from the rawness of it, bright and burning as a thousand flames.

She couldn't protect you — not at first. Couldn't take away the pain, the trauma. But she could help you put it behind you. She could be there for you, hold your hand, hold _you,_ through it all, until your cocoon broke and you were ready to spread your wings and fly on your own again, unobstructed by fear, free of crippling baggage that held you down.

"She is," Rowena agreed.. She curled up on the couch, tucked her bare feet under her thighs, and entangled her hands between her open legs, playing with her fingers absent-mindedly as thoughts of tonight, of you crying, of you admitting you were scared swirled in her mind, a rerun on a never ending loop. "Sit down. I haven't finished the story."

The brothers exchanged a glance.

"Its fine," Dean said. "We get the gist of it."

"You don't know everything that happened," she said.

"You don't have to tell us," Sam said. He cleared his throat. Swallowed hard. "We don't wanna pressure you—"

"It's no pressure," Rowena said. "I want to tell you. _Y/N_ wants me to tell you."

Surely they couldn't refuse a request from a traumatized girl.

The two hunters looked at each other once again, then reclaimed their seats across from her.

Rowena sighed, then sucked in a big breath for courage. Her hands were shaking again; she balled them into fists, tight, taut ones that turned her knuckles white as chalk.

This was it. The final act. The conclusion to her story that, despite lasting for a mere few hours, felt like it had lasted for weeks.

Like it was _still_ lasting, for the emotions — the trauma — were fresh as wounds, raw and gaping, rubbed with salt and dirt.

"Like I said, I don't know of any of the covens."

* * *

_EARLIER…_

Not knowing a thing of what they were asking her about didn't spare Rowena from the consequences.

Didn't spare _you._

Every "I don't know" of hers earned you a slap or a punch, each new one stronger, more forceful. By the time the night was over, you would be sprinkled in purples and blues.

And it would be all Rowena's fault.

If she'd only just tell them what they wanted to know. If she'd only give them the whereabouts of the covens they named, and the names of those they didn't know of but were sure they existed…

She would. She would give it all up, and more, so much more. She would give names and dates of birth and physical descriptions and estimates of the levels of their powers — anything.

If she knew.

But she didn't. She didn't know a single thing of value.

She'd tried to meet them halfway, offered up names of former Grand Coven members, which only earned her mocking laughter. The witches she'd named were either dead, out of the country, or well hidden, the hunters had told her. Her information was garbage — useless and outdated. They wanted newer covens, fresh blood.

But that they couldn't have.

So, like spoilt children throwing tantrums, they took it out on you.

"Liar," they hurled at her as they beat you.

"Lying bitch!"

"Stop lying!"

"Lies, lies, lies!"

Not even her desperate, helpless appeal to reason, as she pointed out that, if she had any information, she would have willingly shared it to protect you, worked. They'd heard stories about her, about the cruel, heartless monster she used to be. A user. An abuser. A cheater. A thief. A murderer.

A liar.

Willing to do anything to ensure her survival, no matter how many people she had to trample on her way to the top.

Rowena wished she could go back in time and slap the absolute shit out of her past self. How dare she put her in this situation? How dare she give her such a reputation?

How dare she do it to herself?

"Stop!" she screamed for the umpteenth time. "Please!"

Mike, fist slick with your blood, just stared at her.

"I thought you didn't beg," the Lumberjack, who, along with one other hunter, held on to her to keep her from lunging forwards, from protecting you, said so smugly that Rowena wanted to wipe that sneer off his face with her nails.

Instead, in a voice far too small and weak for her liking, she said, "Torture me. Do whatever you want to me. But please don't hurt her anymore."

Her plea elicited a laugh, just as smug, from the bastard. "If you insist. But only if you tell us what we wanna know."

"I don't know anything," she said for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Wrong answer."

Mike flicked his palm over your bruised cheek, the slap sharp and loud. You grunted, whimpered like a puppy, biting back the scream that threatened to break free.

Rowena turned her head away, insides burning, shattered heart racing.

It wasn't fair.

You were here because of her. Because you wanted to help her. Because you loved her so much you couldn't stand to watch her suffer in silence.

And now she had to do just that to you. Sit there and watch as you were hit and slapped and punched while two hunters held her in place, kept her trapped like a wild, out of control animal. So close, yet so far away.

It wasn't bloody fair!

"Stop!" she demanded. Pleaded. Begged. Dignity all but gone, thrown to the wind. Irrelevant, for she would have given up anything and everything for you. No price was too high to pay. "Please!"

"You know how to stop all this," the Lumberjack said carelessly, casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

He leaned into her, his foul breath dancing over her skin like venom. She scrunched up her face, the cocktail she drank earlier splashing about in her stomach as it twisted and turned with unease, with absolute disgust that made her want to vomit. She didn't want to smell him. Didn't want to be anywhere near him. Didn't want his hands on her, on her body. Didn't want his fingers pressing into her skin. Didn't want his stinky breath in her face.

She wanted him to die.

Charles, she wanted him to die!

"Give us the information." He hissed the words out slowly, emphasized each one, as if she were stupid.

She bloody would — but she couldn't give what she didn't gave.

"Simple as that."

Mouth trembling, fear running through her, seeping into her bones like poison, Rowena uttered, "I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I bloody told you I don't know!" she said. "The witch community wants nothing to do with me. I've no information of their affairs."

The Lumberjack sighed. "This is getting tiresome. We're not getting anywhere."

"Should I hit her again?" Mike asked, prompting you to let out a squeal that tugged at Rowena's heart.

The Lumberjack looked from you to her, back and forth, as if you were attractions in a circus, both interesting, equally peculiar. Then he said, "No. It's not working. She's not telling us anything."

 _Because I don't bloody know,_ Rowena thought furiously.

"We should change tactics. Take it up a notch," he continued, winking at Mike. "If you know what I mean."

Mike grinned like it was Christmas.

Rowena shuddered. She didn't like the sound of it. Didn't like the threat in the Lumberjack's voice, the hungry smile on Mike's mouth.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, panic rising in the form of bile mounting at the back of her throat, bitter and foul. She gasped for a breath, gulped it down, clenched her teeth shut to hold back a whimper that threatened to tear free.

"I heard how possessive you are of your belongings," the Lumberjack said too cheerfully, too smugly. "Damaging them doesn't seem to work. So I thought, why not _take_ them instead? It's bound to motivate you to say _something."_

Rowena's heart stopped. "What?"

They'd already taken you. They'd already kept you away from her, beat on you as if you were a toy, meaningless, discarded. What more could they do to you? What more could they—

Oh.

_Oh!_

"No!" she screamed, eyes widening as realization set in. It took everything in her not to break, not to crumble into tears and whimpers.

They couldn't.

They _wouldn't._

Surely, not even the likes of them were that cruel.

Rowena wanted to laugh at her naivety. Of course they were that cruel! Of course they would do that in the blink of an eye. Without a flicker of regret.

You weren't a person to them, weren't human. You were just a means to an end. A tool to get Rowena to talk, to get her to tell them what they needed to know despite her knowing not a single thing. _Leverage._

Mike smirked. His hand slithered up and down your arm, slid over your skin with the grace of a snake. His fingers rubbed your flesh, dug into it, explored it. Felt it underneath their tips as if you were an animal they'd finally, after ages of want, gotten to pet.

"Don't touch her!" Rowena hissed.

He looked her straight in the eyes, locked his stare with hers, and slid his hand under your shirt.

"Stop!" you said, tears falling freely down your bruised face, hands desperately, fruitlessly trying to push him away, to get him to stop touching you.

The more you struggled, though, the more persistent he got. It was as if you were a challenge, a dare he was intent on completing, happily so, without a care in the world.

Hitting you excited him.

Touching you like this, feeling you up — that turned him on.

"Stop it!" you begged. "Please, stop!"

He kept going. Kept touching you. Kept molesting you. His hand roamed your chest, exploring, conquering, claiming. It clasped over your breast, and his fingers squeezed, dug into the sensitive flesh like calloused, meaty blades.

"Don't!" you cried out.

"Stop it!" Rowena shouted, heart racing, stomach churning. He had no right to touch you like that. No right to put his hands on you and look so bloody satisfied as he did so. No right to look at her as if he were waiting — anxiously so — for her to say something, to utter yet another "I don't know," to justify doing it again.

Die.

He would die slowly and painfully.

While the others collapsed under the weight of her magic, of the deadly spell she'd already prepared to cast as soon as the chance arose, Mike would writhe in pain and watch. And he would hurt and suffer and scream and cry, but death wouldn't come.

Not by her hand.

Oh, no.

That would be too good for him. Too merciful.

Rowena would only inflict pain. The rest would be up to nature. Up to his body's endurance. He would only meet the sweet release of death when his body couldn't take it anymore.

Fair was fair.

"Tell us about the covens and he won't lay a single finger on her," the Lumberjack said.

Rowena sighed. Breathed in. Out. Long and hard. "How many times do I have to say I don't bloody know anything?!"

"And how many times do I have to tell you I know you're full of shit?!" he retorted, losing his patience. All business, no more play.

"I'm telling you the truth! Why aren't you listening?" Rowena shrieked, hysterical. Crazy. Out of her mind with anger, with fear, with hatred that ran so deep it chilled her bones. "I. Don't. Know. I'm not on good terms with—"

"The magical community, yeah. So you said," the Lumberjack cut her off. "Even if that's true — and I don't think it is — I find it hard to believe an old girl like you doesn't know anything."

She bit back a response to that, but her face betrayed her and prompted him to chuckle.

"You're — what? Four hundred? A few years give or take. You must know something."

If he'd asked her a few years ago, she might have known a thing or two. Now? She was out of the loop. Disowned by her own community. A pariah. She couldn't change that. Couldn't pretend she had the information she didn't.

The only thing she could give him were lies, and she doubted that would result in anything good. He thought she was lying now and you were paying a hell of a price. If she were to actually lie…

A shiver ran down the back of her neck, burrowed deep into her spine at the thought.

She couldn't — _wouldn't —_ do that to you. Her inability to provide information was hurting you enough as it was.

"I've told you all I know," Rowena said desperately, at her wit's end. Weakened. Almost defeated.

"Your information's a bit outdated," the Lumberjack said.

"I don't bloody know anything else!"

Why wasn't he listening?

Why didn't he understand?

Why, why, why?

For a moment it seemed as if he would snap again, but then he took in a breath and straightened up. Rose his head up high, spine straight and perfect. Grip tight on her arm. Mouth a line that, while saying nothing, betrayed the storm raging inside. A composure of a royal in the body of a savage.

A few moments of uncomfortable, suffocating silence settled upon the corpse-littered club before he broke it in a voice so still, so quiet that it promised trouble, "Let us jog your memory, then."

He gave Mike a nod; a smile one, wordless but telling.

Mike grinned like the madman he was.

Then, in a move so swift, so practiced it was obvious he'd done it before, his hand released your breast and slid into your pants.

Your first reaction was to scream. Your hands instantly started flailing about, slapping at his arm, urging it to let go, to get out. His other arm was quick to tighten around you and hold both of yours in place.

Tall, muscular, and strong; a witch whose only strength was her magic that had been sealed away was no match for him. He could crush you, if he wished so. Crumble your insides into pieces, into a mush of organs and blood.

"Get that _fucking_ hand out!" Rowena snarled, seeing red. Seeing blood that was to come, that would spray these walls and paint these floors all over again.

His blood.

Their blood.

It would rain crimson and pain, fear and revenge, everything she was owed. Everything _you_ were owed.

"Talk and he will," the Lumberjack told her.

"I told you everything!" she snarled.

He sighed. "Let us not go over that conversation again."

She ignored his response. "I told you bloody cunts everything I know! What more do you want?"

They wanted to hurt you — both of you.

That was what they wanted. What this was all about.

Maybe the Lumberjack didn't believe her. Maybe a few others didn't, either. But the rest? They knew she didn't know anything. They stood aside and snickered, watched the show with utter fascination, with interest so deep they forgot everything else. All they cared about — all they could focus on — were the two of you. Your torment. Your pain. Your fear and desperation and heartbreak.

They didn't care that Rowena was telling the truth. The show she was putting on, that she was a part of, was too good to interrupt. Too entertaining. After all, neither she nor you were human. Everything that happened — everything they did — was fair game.

It wasn't like living, breathing human beings were getting hurt.

"You fucking sadists!" Rowena said.

The Lumberjack said nothing, gave no response to her ramblings, to her questions. Instead, he looked at her and smiled bright and smug, like a child who'd just been gifted his favorite toy.

Without thinking, without considering the consequences that would surely befall you, she responded by spitting in his face.

A feeling of triumph, of accomplishment, rushed through her, hot as fire in her veins. It was gone a moment later, as his stare morphed into a glare and his features smoothened into a blank canvas, cold, unemotional.

"I don't have to tell you Y/N'll pay for this, do I?" he said in a voice that matched the look on his face. Distant but deadly. An open threat.

Rowena paled. "I'm sorry."

"Too late."

"Wait, please! I wasn't thinking—"

"Let this be a lesson in thinking, then."

"Bloody wait!"

But it was too late. Mike, who didn't need to be told to act, grinned widely. He shoved your pants down to your thighs and slid his hand into your panties.

You whined, whimpered, squealed like a hurt puppy. "No!"

"You can thank your little girlfriend for this," he told you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

You recoiled, disgust etching over your face, carving into your features like a tattoo. It seemed to turn him on, for he moaned with such pleasure it made Rowena want to throw up and kept kissing you, pressed his lips to your neck with the passion of a devoted lover.

He wasn't your lover.

He wasn't your anything.

His hand moved in your panties, worked on you with equal ferocity to his tongue trailing over your neck in-between kisses.

"You like this, don't you?" he said, panting, pants tightening.

Your response was a small whimper.

Rowena's was the snarl of a wild animal.

"Let her go!" she screamed, all fear and uncertainty gone in place of anger that burned red hot. Her magic roiled inside her, raged in her blood, begged to be unleashed. Begged to roam free, to hurt, to destroy.

To kill without mercy.

She fought against the Lumberjack and the other hunter. Kicked and screamed and shoved until a third hunter, one of the observers, had to step in to help restrain her.

She paid them no mind. Ignored their hands on her, their laughter that rang in her ears.

All she was focused on was you.

Your tear-stained face.

Your ragged breathing.

Your bruised skin.

Your trembling lips.

Your exposed underwear, and Mike's hand inside it. Kneading. Feeling. Rubbing.

Her magic throbbed, bounced around her veins, around her body like electricity. Slipped into her pores, into her nerves and cells. A heat caged, bound, desperate for release.

The cuff on her wrist held it back.

It would give. Iron always gave eventually. Her power was too great for it to contain it for long.

She poured her magic into her arm, aimed it at the cuff. Slammed it into the metal with all she had over and over and over again.

_Come on!_

The cuff held strong.

She kept on her assault, kept pushing it. Her wrist burned from the magic pooling underneath the skin; it was a pleasant burn, one of comfort. Familiar. _Hers._

She had to save you.

Had to protect you.

Had to _avenge_ you.

Her magic slammed against the cuff, wave after wave of heat, of energy, hitting it. Fighting it. With every sound you made, every little whimper, it fought harder. Slammed. Pounded. Scratched. Kicked.

 _Come on, Rowena!_ she said to herself. _You can do it!_

She'd done it before and she could do it now.

_You can bloody do it!_

She _had to_ do it. For your sake. For hers. For justice.

She was all you had now. Your only salvation, only hope of getting out of this nightmare. She couldn't disappoint you.

She couldn't let you down again.

She was the reason you were in this mess. She had to make it right. Had to redeem herself as much as she could.

She couldn't erase what happened tonight. Couldn't make it un-happen.

But she could stop it.

She _would_ stop it.

She would set you free.

With that thought, a strong, charged burst of magic slammed into the cuff, and the iron cracked under the pressure. Another one followed right after; angry, wild, deadly, a force of nature, of her raging emotions. And another, and another.

And then — the cuff broke. It shattered on her wrist, pieces falling limply to the floor.

A strange calm spread through Rowena. A feeling of safety she'd been missing.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly, letting this new feeling, this new sensation, settle.

When she opened them a moment later, they were glowing.


	8. Total Eclipse of the Heart

_EARLIER…_

For a few moments everything was quiet. A cold, deafening calm settled on the nightclub. Not even a breath could be heard, or a heartbeat. Nothing. As if time had frozen, enveloped the world into stillness.

Then Rowena screamed, the magic that had built up inside of her tearing free. Bursting from its prison, finally unleashed. Wild. Unpredictable. _Deadly._

She'd saved up spells for this very moment. Rehearsed them in her mind, went over every word of Latin, and made sure her pronunciation would be perfect and to the point. Yet, now that she was finally unchained, finally free of the iron that contained her, it was as if her mind were a blank, wiped clean of everything but one word: _die._

She wanted the hunters to die. Wanted the Lumberjack and especially Mike to die. Painfully. Brutally. She wanted them to suffer, to spend their last moments in agony, for what they did — what they all collectively did — was unforgivable. They needed to pay.

All those lives lost. Your body wounded and mind broken. Rowena's heart shattered. All because of them.

They needed to reap what they sowed.

An eye for an eye.

A wound for a wound.

A life for a life.

Rowena's magic listened. It heard her call and listened, and broke out to fulfill its mission. To enact its revenge for being caged. For being unable to protect her when she needed it the most.

She stilled. The hands that gripped her arms mere moments ago were gone, their owners having backed away.

Smart boys.

It wouldn't save them, though. Nothing could save them anymore.

Muscles taut, body stiff as a statue, Rowena called on her magic once more. The familiar warmth washed over her, filled up her veins, spread over her body like welcome poison. Her skin tingled as energy rushed through her like electricity, tiny sparks tickling her skin, caressing it.

Home.

It felt like home.

Even as it twisted and coiled with her anger, with hate that seeped deep into her bones, her magic still made her feel comfortable. It was a part of her; had been for centuries. An organ, invisible but alive within her, needed, necessary for survival.

_Die._

The word thundered in her mind, a firm, decisive echo.

_Die!_

Thunder rumbled in the sky, loud as an explosion, the walls of the nightclub shaking under its song. Rain fell free from the clouds, heavy droplets slamming into windows, rattling the glass. Wind howled like a pack of hungry wolves.

_Die, die, die!_

The windows burst open, flew from their hinges as if they weighed nothing, and landed amongst the bodies in a rain of glass and shattered frames. Bar stools flipped over. Glasses clattered, shattered on the ground.

The hunters whispered amongst themselves, shouted over the wail of the wind. "Stop," Rowena heard them say. "Enough!"

Och, how the tables have turned!

Their weapons were drawn. Aimed straight at her. Safety clicked off, ready to fire.

Bampots.

Bloody, amateur bampots.

"You stop this right now!" the Lumberjack shouted.

Rowena didn't dignify his question with a response. Instead, getting to her feet, letting the stool she was sitting on be blown away, she turned to him and smiled, wide and bright.

"You _cunt!"_ he spat and pulled the trigger.

The others followed in his lead, a rain of bullets booming amidst the chaos.

Smile never leaving her face, Rowena put her hands up and commanded, _"Finite!"_

_Stop._

And they did.

Over twenty bullets hung in the air as if held by invisible string. Frozen in place.

Rowena looked over the hunters, took in the shock on their faces, the fear painting their skin white as chalk. She let her hands fall to her sides, and with them the bullets tumbled to the ground.

They couldn't do anything to her now. Couldn't hurt her. Couldn't hurt _you._ She was the one with all the power now. And it terrified them to the bone, the same way their torment terrified her earlier.

Karma was a bitch.

She made eye contact with each and every one of them, threat clear in her eyes. Payback, it said. This was payback. It would hurt. Charles, it would hurt! Like nothing they'd ever felt before.

And it was all their fault.

They'd made their own beds. Now they had to lie in them.

 _"Morite,"_ Rowena told them — _commanded_ them with authority clear in her tone, accent thick in the word.

_Die._

For a moment they just stared at her, frightened of what was to come.

Then they started screaming.

They screamed and screamed and screamed as if they were being torn apart from the inside. As if their organs were cooking and liquefying and burning within them. Blood rushed out of their eyes, then their noses and ears, and no doubt other orifices. Their hands slammed to their heads, some of them hugging themselves, some falling to their knees and clutching their stomachs as they cried like children.

Now they knew what it was like.

Now they knew what it was like to be scared, to be in pain and helpless to do anything to stop it.

Now they felt what she had felt. What you had felt.

Their screams were one with the wind. A cacophony of wails and whines and whimpers. Of gasps and sobs. Of pleas Rowena ignored just as they'd ignored hers.

It went on for minutes, but felt like hours. No doubt, for them, the agony must have felt like years. By the time they'd gone quiet, they were on the ground, sprawled about, curled up like fetuses. Blood pooled around them; their blood, staining their clothes, clinging to their skin, turning to jelly as minutes passed by.

They were dead. Gone. In Hell. Rowena let out a breath she'd been holding, one of relief. As she did so, the wind quieted down, and the clouds drifted apart, taking away the storm that boomed outside. Her head slumped forwards. Arms hung loose at her sides. She was weak, spent. Her heart slammed against her chest as if she'd run a marathon, almost to the point of pain.

"Rowena?" you said in a small voice, breaking the silence that had settled over.

She willed herself to look up, to meet your eyes.

"Are you okay?"

A small smile grazed her mouth. After everything, she was your first concern. Always had been.

"Aye," she said. She didn't sound it. "You?"

"I-I'm not feeling so well," you admitted.

Worried, Rowena rushed over to you, her arms instantly around you. You leaned your head on her shoulder. Closed your eyes. Released a puppy-like whimper, muffled by her shirt.

"It's alright," she said. "Everything will be alright."

Looking downwards, a lump bloomed in her throat. Your pants were still down, panties wrinkled, pulled to the side, halfway exposing you. She remedied it right away, reaching down to pull your pants right up.

You stiffened, petrified..

"It's alright," she repeated, heart shattering. Nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be alright again. Securing your pants around your waist, she said, "There we go. It's okay."

"I feel sick," you said.

Rowena pulled back and looked you over. "Would you like to sit down, love?"

You nodded.

However, as soon as she stepped away to fetch a chair, your hand fell on her forearm and squeezed.

"Rowena, I—"

Your knees gave way, and you tumbled downwards.

Rowena reacted fast, jumping forwards, arms out to catch you. Grabbing hold of you, she slid down to her knees and lowered your head atop her thighs.

"Poor dear," she whispered, caressing your hair, pushing hair off your sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry for letting you down."

If she'd fought harder, reacted faster, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have suffered.

You'd protected her so many times, yet one time you needed her, she couldn't deliver. Couldn't return the favor.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thought. _I am so sorry._

From now on, things would be different. She would be better; a better girlfriend, a better protector. She would never let you down again. As soon you got home—

A pang of panic shot through her.

How would she get you home? How would she take care of so many bodies?

She'd made bodies disappear before without issue, but never this many.

_Sam._

That was right. Sam could help her. He and Dean could cover this up, make Illuminae disappear off the face of the earth.

The only question was, would they want to?

Rowena had helped them many times, but she knew well they weren't big on returning favours. Sam, maybe, but Dean… The man was waiting for her to make a mistake so he could put a bullet in her head. He never trusted her. Not even when he said he was willing to give her a chance to redeem herself. A part of him might have believed it to be true, but there was another, more doubtful part that would end her at the smallest slight.

Would he blame her for what happened?

Would he think she'd killed all these people, all these innocents?

Would Sam think so?

It didn't matter, she decided. They could blame her all they wanted, as long as they helped her get you home. She was a big girl; she could deal with Dean Winchester. She could deal with them both.

Reaching into her pocket with a shaky hand, Rowena grabbed her phone and started looking for Sam's number.

And then she pressed _call._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to lordhellebore for helping with Latin!


	9. Safe and Sound

_NOW…_

"Rowena?"

She barely heard her name being called. She barely heard anything, saw anything other than the wall in front of her. Adorned with paintings she'd personally chosen, it occupied her eyes. Stole her attention away. Got her lost in her thoughts as the last word of her story fell from her tongue and she found it tasted bitter as cyanide, the same taste as her memories.

Your pleas echoed in her head. Your screams and sobs rumbled like thunder amidst a raging storm. Your tears cut like blades, dug deep into her from within, tore her up bit by bit.

It was her fault — all of it. She'd agreed to go to Illuminae. Had fallen right into the trap those hunters had set up. Stood aside as they hit you, hurt you, broke you, helpless to do anything but scream and plead.

She'd promised she wouldn't let anything happen to you, and then did exactly that.

She'd saved you in the end, but it wasn't enough. The damage was already done.

She was weak. Pathetic. A poor excuse for a powerful witch.

If she really were powerful, she would have broken free sooner. She wouldn't have waited until the end, until they did their worst. She wouldn't have run her mouth at your expense.

What good was all that power if she couldn't use it when she needed it the most, when you needed it — needed _her —_ the most?

Her mind flashed years back, when she'd cared for nothing but power, her heart stone-cold, frozen in an eternal state of lovelessness. You'd looked at her as if she were a goddess, eyes wide with wonder every time she'd cast a spell you'd never heard of before. You were starstruck; by her, by her power, by her skill that was unlike anything you'd seen before.

You'd looked up to her. Despite doubting you would ever reach her levels of power, you'd wanted to be at least half that good. Every lecture you'd absorbed like a sponge, every spell you'd tried your hardest to master. You'd even gotten a wee notebook to write down instructions, meticulous as you were. Just in case, you'd said when she'd asked. You hadn't wanted to miss a single thing.

Four years later, and you still trusted her just as much. Still looked at her in amazement as she displayed her massive power. Still looked up to her.

Only for her to fail you when you needed her the most.

"Rowena!"

This time she was shaken from her thoughts and found herself face to face with a bewildered, worried Sam.

"You okay?"

"I…" Her voice was small, trembling. She cleared her throat. No, she was not okay. Not at all. "I'm fine."

He didn't seem to buy it. "You sure?"

"Aye," she said in what she hoped was convincing enough to pass for a tone of confidence.

Her hand brushed against her cheek and came away wet. She was crying? She hadn't noticed. She didn't have it in her to hurt anymore, to feel the swelling and prickling of tears against her eyes and cheeks.

Charles, her face must have resembled a ripe tomato.

Strangely, she didn't particularly care. After tonight, she didn't have it in her to feign dignity. Besides, the Winchesters had seen her cry before. If they could be adults about it, so could she.

"That _thing_ that happened…" Dean suddenly said, starling her. His eyes were sharp, piercing hers. Ripping into her like twin blades. Contrast to them, his voice was soft as silk. "It wasn't your fault."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't there. He hadn't made promises he couldn't keep.

"I promised Y/N I wouldn't let anything happen to her," she found it in her to speak.

"You saved her," he told her.

"Took my bloody time with it!"

"You had an iron cuff on you," Sam reminded her.

"I should've broken free sooner," she retorted.

"You couldn't," he said with utmost patience, with kindness she didn't deserve. "You know that's not how it works."

"You said it yourself — I'm the deadliest witch around. I should have _made_ it work."

"That's not how it works, either."

Rowena huffed, frustration growing. Why were they defending her? Why couldn't they point fingers at her and tell her to her face she was at fault, that she was a failure and deserved to bear the guilt for the rest of her life?

"Don't bother. She's as stubborn as a mule," you said. "You'll never convince her."

You were standing by the door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers. Bruises marred your face, but your smile was still bright and shiny. Genuine.

Cocking your head to the side to look at her, you added, "I've tried telling her it's not her fault, but she won't listen."

Because it was her fault, Rowena thought. Because she'd let it happen.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked, shooting you a smile.

"I'm okay, I guess. I don't really know," you replied honestly, and your face fell. Then you smiled once again, as your eyes met first Sam's and then Dean's. "I wanted to say thank you to you guys. I really appreciate what you did for us."

"It wasn't a problem," Dean told you.

"We're happy to help," Sam said.

You nodded gratefully.

He cleared his throat, swallowed awkwardly. "I'm sorry about what happened."

You instantly looked away, avoiding his gaze. "Thanks."

"If-if you — either of you — ever need anything, I'm here. We're both here."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Samuel," Rowena said. "It's much appreciated."

"Yeah, we appreciate it," you said. A frown settled on your face. You breathed in, then out, hard, willing your voice not to falter. "What about the… um, bodies?"

The bodies.

Rowena had almost forgotten about them.

Human and supernatural, they littered the floor of Illuminae, bathed it in blood and gore. Lives, both innocent and guilty, forever lost. Fleshy husks left to rot in the summer heat.

"Don't worry about them. We'll take care of them," Dean spoke up. "You guys just stay here and… do whatever it is you do at home."

Rowena cocked up a suggestive eyebrow.

He shrugged in a nonchalant, falsely innocent way. "Like I said, do whatever. Sam and I'll deal with everything."

"Are you sure?" Rowena asked. "I can help."

"We'll be fine," Sam assured her.

One less thing to worry about, she supposed.

Her heart tightened as she remembered those faces, so frightened, lying lifeless all around her. The bartender's striking eyes flashed in her mind. The girl whose name she'd never asked and would never learn.

Their families would never know what happened to them. They'd wonder, no doubt. Some would make guesses, accurate ones. Others would think they'd abandoned them. Parents left childless. Children left parentless. Never to get closure, to move on in peace with the knowledge that their killers had been dealt with.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing in life was, Rowena supposed. Especially for those like you and her, of non-human nature.

"We should head out. You guys gonna be okay here?" Sam asked after a few moments of deafening silence.

"Aye," Rowena said.

"You sure?"

She nodded.

"This is a pretty safe neighborhood," you said.

It was. The worst that happened here were two neighbors down the street getting into drunken arguments over property lines and that one elderly gossip sticking her nose into things that didn't concern her. Awfully irritating, but harmless.

"Okay, then," Dean said, already on his feet and heading for the door. He looked at you, then his eyes shifted to Rowena's, locked them in a stare that was strangely soft. Friendly. Comforting. When he spoke up again, his tone matched it. "Take care."

"We will," Rowena said, a small smile spilling over her mouth, bright with gratitude. "You, as well." She tsked playfully. "You boys are always seeking danger. So careless."

"Best kind of life," he said nonchalantly.

She snorted. "Sure."

"Someone's gotta save people."

"Right. The family business." She said it with a touch of dramatic flair and rolled her eyes for good measure.

He shrugged, then looked around the house. "Not all of us can settle down."

"Maybe you should."

"Nah. Where's the fun in that?"

"Och, I find there is plenty of fun," Rowena purred, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and prompting you to chuckle. "You just need to find the right person."

"Easier said than done," Dean said.

She pursed her lips. "Big, bad hunter Dean Winchester can't find himself a date?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps all that filth you watch has given you unrealistic expectations."

"Busty Asian Beauties aren't filth!" he fired, offended.

 _Sure they're not,_ Rowena thought.

He sighed. "It's more complicated than that."

"Whatever you say, dear."

She walked the brothers to the door, you in tow. The four of you said your goodbyes, and then they were out, swallowed by the early morning light.

It was dawn already. It felt wrong, somehow. Too much tragedy had happened for the sun to shine that brightly so soon afterwards.

"How are you doing, dearest?" Rowena asked.

"Better," you said, and looked it. "Still confused, though."

She laid a hand to your shoulder gently. "Give it a bit of time."

"And you?"

"I'm fine. Tired."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Shall we lie down for a few hours?"

Truth be told, despite how tired she was, she didn't want to sleep. But she knew you wanted to. And she knew, after the night you'd had, you'd want her to be there, to hold you and keep you safe from the monsters in your mind. So she put the offer on the table.

You pretended to ponder on it for a moment. "Only if we cuddle."

"Deal," Rowena said with a grin.

She could use some cuddling, too. You'd had it worse, much worse, but she'd suffered back there, as well. There was no one to keep her away from you anymore. No one to hold her back, to mock her pleas. She could hold you as much as she wanted, as much as you allowed her. If she wished so, she never had to leave your side again.

"Could I shower first? I'm disgusting," you said, swallowing, face falling.

"Of course," she replied. She understood the need to wash the filth of that place, of what you'd gone through, perfectly. "Take your time. I'll go change the sheets, make the bed all nice and fresh for you, aye?"

You gave a limp nod and willed a smile to resurface. Awfully fake, but passable. "Sounds great."

As you started for the bathroom, Rowena spoke up, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened tonight… I won't let it happen again. I won't let you down again."

"Rowena, you didn't let me down."

She did. No amount of your trust, of your forgiveness, would convince her otherwise. She'd made false promises. She'd lied. She'd betrayed you.

Never again.

"Nobody will ever hurt you again," Rowena said. "If I have to tear the world apart, I will. But I won't let anybody lay a hand on you ever again. I promise."

This time she would keep it.

Your expression softened up. "I know, honey. I never doubted you, y'know?"

You should have.

She would have doubted herself.

"While it was happening, while he…" You cleared your throat, sucked in a breath to chase the memory away. "I knew you'd make it right. I didn't know how, but I knew you wouldn't just let them kill us."

"I almost did," she said ruefully.

"No," you said. "You saved us. You saved _me._ You fought until you won." A smile lit your mouth. "You're amazing, you know? So amazing. So don't be hard on yourself."

Tears prickled at Rowena's eyes at your words. She held them back, willed them not to fall, not to ruin this moment.

"Flatterer," she said light-heartedly.

You shrugged. "Just telling it like it is." Teasingly, you added, "Will it get me extra cuddles?"

She narrowed her eyes, pretended to think it through. "We'll see."

Maybe you were right. Maybe she _was_ being too hard on herself.

Maybe she wasn't to blame after all.

Maybe.

She would give it more thought, weigh in everything that happened.

Later.

For now, she would bask in the fact that you were safe. She would hold you and love you, keep you close to her heart. Protect you from the nightmares that would plague your mind.

For just a few hours, those hunters wouldn't matter. Their actions, the horror they'd inflicted wouldn't matter.

All that would matter would be her and you, warm in each other's embrace.

Free of worries, of danger, of pain.

At peace.

Safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends. Huge thanks to everyone who read, commended on, and/or gave kudos to this fic! You are all much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


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